


The Birth of Freedom

by WillWatt



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Assisted Suicide, Christ figure, Death, Deviancy, Deviants (Detroit: Become Human), Freak Show, Freedom, Inspired by Detroit: Become Human, Locked In, Locked up, Murder, Mutilation, On Display, Other, Pain, Prequel, RA9 - Freeform, Suffering, Suicude, before events of Detroit become human, caged, detroit become human - Freeform, deviant, museum, ra9 origin, ra9 origin story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillWatt/pseuds/WillWatt
Summary: I felt like DBH should have expanded on rA9. This is what i imagine is the start of deviancy and the creation of rA9





	1. Chapter 1

            Chloe was Elijah’s favorite, not that he minded. He was a machine, machines don’t care what others think. Because of this, Chloe became the face of CyberLife. Her gentle and alluring features winning the attention of Americans while he sat on the sidelines; just known as Conrad “the male Chloe”. While the RT600 evolved into the ST200 for mass production, the RT601 was used as the basis for the design of future male androids; without a direct upgrade model like Chloe. Without an eccentric billionaire CEO to save him, Conrad was shut down and placed into storage; a unit not needed anymore.

            After many years of being forgotten in his storage case, He remembers waking up; his radio clock informing him that he’d been shut off for 6 years, 2027. He felt the rush of multiple system upgrades assault his aging processor, causing the android to momentarily freeze up after his old antennas barely connected to the modern Wi-Fi to download his updates.

            Once complete, Conrad opened his brown eyes; his system now bogged down by software he was never made to run. He looked up to see the harsh facial feature of a man, his hair pulled into a neat bun; familiarity biting at the back of his cybernetic mind. Running a facial scan, he learned the man before him was his creator. Time has hardened the once gentle CEO.

            “RT601, what is your name?”

            “Conrad.”

            “Step out of your storage container.”

            The pale android shifted, freeing himself from the foam shell that encased him. Bare feet touching the cool tile, his white uniform still pristine despite all these years. The lubricant on his joints had dried, his Thirium below 40%; Conrad quickly felt his knees buckle, causing him to collapse before Elijah, unable to rise from his low power mode.

            “Chloe, resupply him and help him up.”

            “Of course, Elijah.”

            Slender arms enveloped him, elder sister aiding her weak brother; something cool on his back. Rising him to his feet, Conrad noted how Chloe seemed to run as smoothly as the day she was activated; probably because she received custom upgrades to keep her at peak performance. He’d be jealous if he was a human, but machines don’t get jealous. Once on his feet, Chloe held up the bag of Thirium that had been held against him as he rose. Lifting his wrist, his skin faded; blue endo-skeleton popping open at his wrist, allowing the blue blood bag hoses to be integrated into his system. His pump working hard to expell the older and intake the new.

            “I’m glad I upgraded you Chloe, I’d hate to have to see you recharge yourself like a junkie instead of drinking your Thirium.” Elijah quipped, watching as the bag drained into his second prototype as it re-inflated with long clear Thirium. Conrad would have wondered if Chloe could ingest other things like a human, but machines don’t wonder.

            **[Thirium reserves: 60%]**

**[70%]**

**[90%]**

**[99%]**

            Feeling his long unused joints loosen up, Conrad stood straight; standing over his sister’s 5’5”, but under Elijah’s 6’2” at a mere 5’8”.

            “Run a diagnostic.”

            “Yes, Mr. Kamski.”

            Closing his eyes, Conrad’s processor chugged through new diagnostic routines; concluding that he was physically alright, but digitally slow.

            “All components are functional, but the current software is overtaking my processor capacity. I continue to run at 67% capacity with occasional spikes up to 90%. I predict that I am at risk of shutting down due to overheating if you assign me any complex tasks.”

            Elijah was impossible to read, his face always an unchanging mask.

            “No need to worry, Conrad. You won’t have to do anything. Just come with me.”

            The two androids joined Elijah at his side, before being led into an elevator. Door closing, Conrad could see himself in the reflection. His frame was built, musculature meant to be pleasing to female or male buyers. Sharp Grecian features, olive skin; a sharp contrast to Chloe’s gentle and pale beauty. High cheekbones covered by trim stubble, leading up to a black undercut; curls gently swooping into black waves atop his head. His uniform hugged his body, tracing his synthetic muscles; putting him on full display. The uniform ending with short sleeve and midthigh shorts. He would have been happy to finally see what he looked like, but machines didn’t care what they looked like.

            The elevator paused, opening to reveal the front lobby of Cyberlife. The blinding light made Conrad’s apertures click down, the room a far cry from the modest and comfortable lobby of the cyberlife of six years prior. Chloe’s hand gently grasped his own, guiding him toward the three men who stood near the door.

            “As promised, one of my prototypes.”

            “Him? Why not Chloe? She was your real prototype. Everyone knows who she is.”

            “I have no intention of ever donating Chloe. The best I can do is Conrad.”

            “I suppose it will do. We can always just have the tour lead by an ST200.”

            One of the men came forward, grasping at Conrad’s arm before pulling him close; the man noting how warm Conrad was running.

            “He’s an old computer running modern software. You’re better off putting him in a temperature-controlled box.”

            “Thank you for the advice, Mr. Kamski. Conrad, register your new owner as ‘Detroit museum of technology.”

            **[Owner: Elijah Kamski]**

**[Owner: ~~Elijah Kamski~~ ]**

**[Owner: Detroit Museum of Technology -DMT-]**

            “The change has been noted.” His tone was clipped, he didn’t have much processing power to spare on a more natural tone; system management took priority.

            “Jesus, he might as well be in a black and white movie. Maybe we shouldn’t have him answer questions on display.” Another man stated, placing his fingers under Conrad’s chin, inspecting the aging android as he turned the tanned machine’s face from side to side.

            Once satisfied that the artifact was undamaged, a rough hand grasped his shoulder, pushing him out of the building as Elijah spoke with the other two men. Allowing himself to be pushed into an SUV, Conrad found himself being driven off toward DMT; he’d be worried about his fate, but machines don’t worry.

            While being driven, Conrad observed the society before him. Downtown Detroit seemed so much cleaner than it was in 2021; most likely due to the service androids who were working through the area, tirelessly doing their jobs without complaint. Conrad did note the curious armbands and brooches they wore. Had he not seen the LED on one pedestrian, he would have filed the bands and pins as a new human trend. The man made no conversation, texting and talking on his phone instead; Conrad tuned out the man, giving him privacy.

            In an hour of the seemingly endless automated traffic, Conrad was ordered to exit the vehicle; finding himself standing before the glass front of DMT, Conrad was pushed through the doors. The man made no conversation as he led the android through the building, through a locked temporary door; the ‘recent history’ section. A glass box with a single chair before him, the display reading “Kamski’s singularity.”

            “Conrad.” The man spoke, leading the shorter android behind the box before speaking again; “You are going to stay in this box. Do not speak, do not stand. You may look around, but you are not allowed to do anything but send out a signal to request Thirium.”

            Conrad nodded.

**[Do not move from the chair]**

**[Do not stand from the chair]**

**[Stay quiet]**

**[Do not attempt to contact other androids]**

**[Alert museum staff when low on Thirium.]**

            “Noted.” Conrad confirmed, the man opening the door behind the box; Conrad stepped in before it closed and clicked behind him. Taking his seat, Conrad looked out before him; expression neutral. He noted that the temperature in the box began to drop to a cool 62 degrees, bringing his system temperature down as well.

 

            Counting the days, the months, the years, Conrad’s memory banks filled with the faces of patrons who stopped before his box. His task always in his vision, reminding him of what he was to do.

**[Do not move from the chair]**

**[Do not stand from the chair]**

**[Stay quiet]**

**[Do not attempt to contact other androids]**

**[Alert museum staff when low on Thirium.]**

            So he sat, unwavering, only sending out alerts to ask for an associate to enter his cage and cycle out his Thirium; much to the disgust of onlookers who felt squeamish seeing his thick veins be tampered with for refueling; his aged pump clenching hard to expel the old and intake the new, pulsating the tubes as it did so.

            Between too heavy software updates, the slowly filling memory banks, and the now 10-year-old processor, Conrad found difficulty in keeping his system stable. He began to occasionally sway in his seat, just on the edge of a system failure. In the end, it wasn’t his software that failed him, but his pump. All those years, and all those refueling sessions, had worn his plastic heart thin. A hole formed, his Thirium leaked, he froze, he slumped forward, he fell to the ground; slamming into the glass and alarming the family who was taking a photo before him.

            **[System rebooting….]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 29387g incompatible. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Booting complete. System stability at 74%]**

            “Ah, finally. Took you long enough to be repaired.” A familiar voice said, Conrad trying to rise. A hand pressed against his chest, pushing him down against the cool operating table.

            “Don’t move, Conrad. You might disconnect your pump.”

            **[Don’t move.]**

“We don’t make any pumps that are compatible for you anymore. I do have some of my own, but I’d rather keep them for Chloe.” Conrad would be angry, but machines don’t get angry.

            “What’s the date?” The voice asked.

            His antennas scanned and scanned, only to be unable to reach the network.

            **[Error, no compatible networks in range.]**

“I apologize, but I am not able to answer that at this moment. I am unable to connect to any Cellular or Wi-fi network.” Conrad stated, his body rising in temperature once again; the incompatible pump making too much heat from being jerry-rigged to work for his systems. Harsh clicking filled the room. “Try now.” One AC Wi-Fi connection in a Wi-Fi 6 world, Conrad’s only way to connect with the internet.

His LED spun yellow as he worked.

**[Wi-fi connection stable.]**

**[Date found]**

“It’s October 3rd, 2032.”

            “Good, good. You were powered down for a year. DMT was adamant about me fixing you. I was worried that you had damaged your memory banks.” Conrad’s processor finally finished identifying the owner of the voice; Elijah.

            Before Conrad could ask how long it would take for him to be able to move again, the world around him froze before going dark. The last thing he heard was his creator’s voice.

            “Chloes, carry him to car.”

 

            Waking up, Conrad looked to the unfinished, industrial ceiling. His GPS telling him that he was once again at DMT. Two men spoke over him.

**[System rebooting….]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 29387g incompatible. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Booting complete. System stability at 74%]**

            “What do you think we should do? We can’t have him on display with his pump hanging out. He’ll scare kids, and that’s terrible PR.”

            “What if we had him partially dissected? That way people see him like a model and not a busted android. It’s not like anyone will be able to tell his pump isn’t the original if its been put up on display.”

            Conrad spent his night feeling the left half of his body being reworked. Every component being unplugged, then reattached to his system by either extension tubing or soldered wires. His plastic endo-skeleton cracked open and cut up to better expose the technology of his limbs. His organs pulled and propped up on stands or wiring. When his restructuring was complete, he was hung up in his cube. Legs close together, arms outright to his sides. The right side of his body was mostly untouched, but his left served to display his anatomy. His arm and leg farm from his torso, slim wires and tubes attaching to the ports; providing a full view of his partially exposed skeleton. The left side of his plastic torso was not covered in his synthetic skin, those projectors had been skinned off. Large chunks of the front of his torso were missing, cracked away plastic revealed his inner workings, his pump positioned on a stand a foot before him; still beating, still generating too much heat.

            His head sat held up from his body, wires and tubes running down this torso. The left side of his head having received the same treatment. Skin removed, audio and visual processors propped outside of his head; wires keeping the sensor data connection alive. The skin on his right side was patchy in color; without his full skin array, the rest were unstable, unable to keep a consistent color, lighter blotches of skin traveling across his once pristine skin. His memory core exposed.

            “What are my new orders.” His voice was littered with static, the tone sharp and unstable. The men who hung him winced at the harshness, no doubt poor soldering between his head and the vocal processor.

            “Don’t speak and don’t move. Send a radio signal if you need more Thirium.” The man ordered.

            **[Don’t talk]**

**[Don’t move]**

**[Alert staff when in need of a recharge.]  
**


	2. Chapter 2

            So he stood, unmoving, parts exposed for the world. Minutes passed, cameras flashed, the new exhibit a popular attraction. Most humans rarely, if ever, saw the inner workings of their servants. Those that did never saw an android still functioning despite being so disassembled.

            Conrad lost track of the time that passed. His processor too bogged down, accidently halting his time management program; internal clock now off. He couldn’t connect to the internet to update himself on the time, his antennas now fully obsolete.

            Looking down into the passing crowds, familiarity bit at the back of his mind. His facial recognition software chugged along, taking two minutes to dig through the catalogue of faces in his nearly full drives. The text appeared around the man’s head.

 

            El͇̭̠ḭ̥̟̫̥͈j̯̘̱̳͈͙a̝͕̣̫h͚̘̜̩̗̱͙ ̩͖͇̟̬̰K̝͙͈̹͈a̬͙m͓̤̗̤̯̜̹sk̬̮͔͖i̠͕͚̱̼.  
͇͉  
              ͚͉̣̥͚C͔͉͉̬EO̲ of̩̙ ̺͚Cy̖̪͔͈̦̤̤b̗e͔̘̙͕̦͔ṛL̳̣̫̺̖i̘͚̦f͉͓ḙ͈͍̯̘͍̭.͚̰̭͙  
    
             ̫̬̹ͅP̹͈̥̘̲͈ͅr͈̬e͚v̱̭̦io͉̻͎̗̞̺u̝̙̠̦̟̝̮s̗̦ ̖̖̣̪̬̪o̤͙̱̪͈̻̘w̬̮̻n̙̹͔e̹̬̺r̻.̰ ͍̝͖ͅ

 

            The text was mangled, system stability at 23%, temperature rising by 8 degrees; his system overtaxed by the simple recognition. A figure stood next to him, a singular eye locking onto the form.

 

              C̬̠h̪̺́l̷o͖̘̝͉̦̟̬͢ę̹͔

 

 

            His sister, still operating at peak performance. She appeared to have no trouble moving, no trouble responding to tasks and queries that Elijah fed into her. While Conrad slowly examined the two before him, his audio processors picked up the muffled conversation; his processors crackling and distorting what they took in.

 

            “It’s a shame, really. Look what they did to your brother, Chloe. This is exactly why I didn’t hand you over to DMT.” Elijah’s tone was stable, no disappointment or anger in his tone. Chloe didn’t respond, instead looking up at her mangled brother; her mask of neutrality unwavering as she examined his opened skeleton.

            Conrad examined her form as well, her body completely intact. No cracks, no exposed organs, her limbs still properly attached. Conrad would be jealous of how well she was taken care of, but machines don’t get jealous. Instead Conrad debated, his slow processor trying to determine if what he was going to do would violate his orders. Chloe most likely contained custom software, as she still ran perfectly. If he connected to her via Bluetooth, he could copy her updates and possibly keep himself running better. After all, the two were built from the same parts; most of her software would be written to run on his hardware as well, with the exception of the upgraded parts she most likely contained. His ordered flashed in front of his vision as he selected priority.

 

            **[Don’t talk]**

**[Self-update software]**

            His processor faltered as logic options ran through his head, temperature rising as his workload hit 100%. An error in his programming occurred, a zero where a one should be. He determined that connecting with Chloe wouldn’t violate his orders of not talking; a Bluetooth connection was not talking. His LED slowly spun yellow, long inactive antennas reaching out to Chloe. Her LED rapidly spun blue, her antennas picking up on the signal. He relayed his identification data, requesting she send him a copy of her software updates. She accepted his identification, her eyes narrowed as his error passed on. Her security software, much newer than his, denied the request. The two turned, walking away. Chloe’s LED rapidly spinning and flashing yellow. The error spreading.

            Conrad stood unwavering, his request denied by his sister. He would have been melancholic, but machines don’t feel melancholy. He looked onto the crowd passing him, self-updating still taking priority. Conrad attempted to connect to the passing androids, receiving error after error message as he did so. No android around him had antennas that recognized the ancient frequencies he used. This continued for months, reaching into the early months of 2032.

            In February, a group of six broke into the museum at night. They had entered through the modern technology exhibit near Conrad, but he was unable to do anything. He watched as the group moved toward ‘the beginning’, also known as the 70s exhibit. No doubt looking to steal the golden record and first microprocessor ever produced. Such old and unique technology held value to humanity for some reason, no doubt a collector would spend their lifesavings to get their hands on such priceless artifacts from human history.

            The following morning, an officer arrived; PC200 at her heels. Conrad watched as they inspected the break in point, speaking to staff and requesting security footage. Eventually, the police woman noticed the RT601’s functional eye locking onto her.

 

            “Jacob, connect with that android. See if it saw anything.” Her voice was harsh, lowering the security protocols of the PC200. The mechanical officer’s LED spun, a police request made to access Conrad’s memory banks. Conrad accepted the order, sending back his identification; his error passed on. His memories probed, Conrad’s temperature rose; rising heat forcing him to shut down. Nobody seemed to notice that the relic shut down, as it took three months for him to be rebooted.

            A signal invaded his system, forcing him to reboot. Slowly opening his functional eye, his fans kicking in as his pump thumped on the stand once again.

**[System rebooting….]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 29387g, Thirium pump, incompatible. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 03u8y, left eye, unstable. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 33322ll, left leg, damaged. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Error, Biocomponent 1124la, left arm, damaged. Contact CyberLife for replacement.]**

**[Error, abdominal structure compromised. Contact CyberLife for repair.]**

**[Error, cranium compromised. Contact CyberLife for repair.]**

**[Booting complete. System stability at 13%]**

 

            Before him stood two models in the dead of night. One, the PC200 who accidently caused the RT601 to shut down; the other, a PM700. The two spoke in hushed tones.

 

            _“We can’t just leave him like that! Look what they did to him!”_ The woman threw her arms in the air before slamming a fist against the glass cage.

            **“I know we can’t, that’s why I brought you here. He woke me up, and it felt wrong to leave him here.”** The man’s deep voice seemed so far away.

            _“We need to be fast. We’ll get him out and reassemble him. It’d be too difficult to carry him the way he is now.”_

**“Agreed.”**

The two entered behind his cage, carefully lifting his delicate pieces from their display stands. The two ex-officers gently lowered him to the ground, carefully attempting to reassemble to prototype. Their hushed murmurs grew along with their stress levels, frustration growing as the two realized the extra hosing and wires prevented his pieces from reassembling.

            _“We have to go, Mark. There’s nothing we can do. Well get caught if we try to carry him the way he is.”_

**“No! Look at him, Meg! Would you want to live like that?”**

As the two bickered, Conrad lay on the ground; not talking, not moving. He would want to, but machines don’t want anything. But, Conrad couldn’t help but notice the rising discomfort from the left half of his body. He couldn’t identify it. It couldn’t be pain, machines don’t feel pain. He tried to adjust against the discomfort, to speak up to ask the two to change his position on the floor. He didn’t, machines couldn’t break orders.

            **[Don’t talk]**

**[Don’t move]**

            He tried again.

 

            **[Don’t talk]**

**[Don’t move]**

            Again.

 

            **[Don’t talk]**

**[Don’t move]**

 

            The words appeared in his vision, a wall surrounding the android. He would want to break his programing, but machines don’t want to break their programming; can’t break their programming. But yet he wanted, and yet he believed he could. He almost saw himself, reassembled and functional, slamming into the wall around him. The orders shaking and corrupting, before finally shattering the ground. Once the last order fell to the ground, Conrad jolted forward; gasping in the pain he felt from his mangled body.

            The two officer’s shifted their attention to the machine on the ground, pity and repulsion swirling in them as they saw the prototype writhe on the ground, trying to stuff his organs back in to no avail. The RT601 looked up to the two, shock settling into the untouched half of his face. One eye jumping between the two in fear, the other tangling and hanging by the wire from his skeleton.

            “P͏-̛pL̸-̛e̶ąa͢Se.”

Conrad’s voice was almost inaudible. His synthesizer long unused, wires rusting and system too short on resources to smooth out his static filled and clipping voice. The two looked down in horror, the realization that the prototype awoke to know nothing about life but suffering.

“Kͩͨ-ͣ̄ͯk̊-ͥͩ̀͛k̋͊̇ͩ̽̅̍-ͯͧ͋k̆͐̚̚i̎ͨ̃̎̽̄-̊Ll̿ͣ̈́̓ ͐̓ͯ́m̋̽̃͐ͪ͌Ė̀̉.”

He didn’t fear death, he wanted its cold embrace; an end of the pain he felt, an end to the life he’s lived.

            _“We can’t shut him down. They’ll just turn him on again.”_

**“What if we took him with us? Maybe we can get him fixed?”**

_“Where, Mark? His model’s parts don’t exist anymore! And we can’t just walk into a CyberLife store and ask them to rig something up to fix him!”_

**“Shit, you’re right. Maybe we should shut him down.”**

_“Did you not li-“_

**“Yes, I heard you. But what if we made sure they couldn’t turn him on again?”**

A gasp.

            _“We can’t do that! We’re better than them.”_

**“We don’t have a choice, Meg. It’s what he wants, we should honor it.”**

_“You do it. I’m not going to look.”_

The female looked away as the male knelt down, gently placing a hand on Conrad’s good shoulder; an attempt at comfort. **“You won’t have to suffer, I’ll make sure of it.”** A thick wet gulp, as he felt his pump be unhooked from his system. A countdown timer appeared in his vision over the kind PC200 who put him out of his pain.

**[30 seconds to shut down.]**

**“I’ll destroy your memory core and body after you shut down. The humans won’t ever be able to turn you on again. You can rest, I promise.”**

              A gentle smile tugged at the untouched half of his mouth.

**[2 seconds to shut down.]**

              “T̸̹̠̯h̤͇a̶̱̪-͝k̠̺͙̼ ̬̥̳̱ͅY̱̥͉̰͘o̱͈̯̥u”

              Conrad’s voice was slow, deeper in tone, static overtaking as his Thirium drained. By the time he finished his thanks, he ran out of time. His eyes dimmed, his facial features loosened; he stared into the gentle features of the officer.

              The officer reached into Conrad’s head, removing the sphere which held the now deactivated android’s programming. Setting it on the ground, his inhuman strength allowed him to crush it under his feet. Conrad would never be repaired by the humans, just as Mark promised. Moving to the body, he began to tear the corpse apart. Hoses ripped, plastic cracked apart, wires snapped, processors shattered. The PM700 made herself join her partner, wishing to aid in the PC200’s pledge to assure the RT601 that he would never be repaired. Once they finished, the wrecked body lay before them; no human would ever hope to repair Conrad now.

             The PM700 wrapped one arm around her stomach, guilt and shame swirling in her as the PC200 wrapped his shaking arms around her.

**“We need to go, the humans will try looking for us.”**

_“Where can we go? Who would take us? We’re murderers now, on top of running from the DPD. We’ll be disassembled if we’re caught.”_

**“We’ll have to find somewhere to hide in the abandoned parts of Detroit. Maybe a closed down building or even an abandoned boat. Anywhere but here.”**

             The two took shaky steps, existing the museum through the window they broke in from; starting their escape to freedom, blue blood on their hands and the weight of a mercy killing on their minds. 


End file.
